Gone From Me: Hearts of the South, Book 10 (2 page)

Rob made a noncommittal sound in his throat. Investigations had been all he’d ever done, so he didn’t have anything to compare it to. He slumped a little in the seat. The small talk took the edge off, gave him something to think about besides—

“How long have you been married?” Farr gestured at the gold band on Rob’s finger.

His neck tightened, and he swallowed to keep the tension out of his voice. “Almost five years.”

“Any kids?”

Shit, seriously? Rob smothered the resentment. The royal fubar state of his life wasn’t Farr’s fault.

“No. No kids.” He rolled his shoulders and chafed a hand over his neck. He glanced at Farr’s left hand as the deputy shuffled the wheel for a left-hand turn onto something called PSC Road. A thin gold ring, so yeah, he was married too. “You?”

Pride lit Farr’s face. He lifted a pair of fingers. “Two. One of each. Tatum’s two, and Christopher was six weeks old yesterday.”

He cruised to a stop at the dead-end stop sign and shot a look at Rob. “Dude, you’ve got to relax.”

“What are you talking about?”

Farr didn’t move his foot from the brake. “You’re all tensed up and edgy. I know it’s your first day and all, but trust me, you can’t be this uptight. You tense up, you make mistakes.”

“Sure.” Rob rubbed his neck once more. He tried to shake the rigid tension rising from the banked anger. It wasn’t like him to be this way, but then, he’d never caught his wife and one of his friends together before, either. “I’ll get it together.”

“It’s been a slow week, which is good because it gives you time to get acclimated.” Farr steered into a smooth right-hand turn.

The radio crackled with a deputy’s voice. “C-5, Chandler. Traffic stop on north Highway 3, at Little Slough Bridge. Check stolen, wanted on Florida tag RFJ-644.”

“10-4, 10-12, C-5.” The dispatcher relayed the affirmative, standby codes, voice calm and smooth.

“Wonder what Chris is up to now?” Farr adjusted the radio squelch.

“C-5, C-13, can you 10-78 if available?”

“Oh, hell yeah.” Farr increased their speed. A grin creased his face. “If he’s calling for backup, something is definitely up.”

Scrub trees and pastures flashed by. Rob chafed his palms over his knees. He still didn’t like being in the passenger seat, the loss of autonomy new and uncomfortable. Of course, if he’d been in the driver’s seat, they’d never make the call because he had no idea where Little Slough Bridge was.

They swooped around a double-S curve, and a white K9 unit, lightbar sparking atop it, came into view, parked behind a green Impala. A third unmarked patrol car approached from the opposite direction. As Farr pulled to a stop at the K9 unit’s rear-end, Rob cataloged the details of the scene—the uniformed deputy standing with three young men at the back of the car, the nervous, fidgety movements of the young men contrasting with the deputy’s easy air of command.

Farr reached for the microphone, calling in their arrival. The click as Rob unsnapped his seat belt rang too loud in his ears. The back of his neck flushed, the skin tingled—to match the hot, tight sensation gripping his gut. He passed a hand over his holster and shoved the door open. Shoulders back and straight, he ran a stare over the trio standing before the tall, dark-haired deputy.

“Hands in plain view.” The deputy’s smooth voice carried easily. “Don’t move until I tell you.”

Rob darted a glance at Farr. His expression calm, he moved with confident authority, palm resting lightly atop his Glock. The unmarked unit eased to a stop at the front of the Impala, and Tick Calvert stepped out. One of the young men fidgeted, playing with the cargo pocket on his shorts. Another ran his fingers through shaggy sun-lightened hair.

“Be still.” The deputy looked up from the driver’s license in his hand and regarded the driver. He jerked his chin at Calvert as he approached, then at Farr and Rob. “Calvert. Troy Lee.”

“Whatcha got, Chris?” Farr stopped at an angle to the three young men.

“Thirteen over the limit. Expired tag out of Florida.” Chris didn’t smile. “No valid insurance. Waiting on the license status to come back. These guys are lost on this back road if they’re on the way to Tampa.”

A mild harrumph rumbled up from Farr’s chest. “Lost or something.”

“Or something.” Chris tapped the license against his opposite hand and addressed the car’s driver. “Mr. Timmons, do you mind if we run the dog on your car?”

The guy never answered. His body tensed and the taut silence exploded. His two friends dove into the woods to the west; Timmons dashed east across the highway to plunge into the shadowy pecan grove. Rob sprinted into the woods, gaze trained on a bright orange T-shirt. His pulse beat in his ears but didn’t dim his awareness that Farr veered to his left after the second suspect. Behind them, a dog’s wild barking blended with Chris’s encouraging commands. That faded east as the woods deepened.

Rob’s chest burned while his legs protested the sudden demands of a zero-to-full-speed sprint. Scrub tugged at his pants; branches slapped and scraped his bare arms. The guy in the orange shirt didn’t slow, but continued tearing through the woods. A fallen log, rotten and covered with moss, loomed. Rob hurdled it, but the tip of his duty shoe slipped. He hit the ground, pushed up, kept going, the flash of orange farther ahead of him than before.

Shit.

His lungs on fire, he pushed harder. His thigh muscles screamed, but he pumped faster. Man, the guy could run. A swish of green pine smacked his face, the sharp tang of turpentine invading his nose. Crap, he was going to lose him. His first freaking day on the job and he was going to let a suspect outrun him.

Double shit.

Brown and tan flashed close ahead of him, moving at an angle through the trees. What the… Was that Farr? Hell, maybe the other guy had gotten away.

Farr closed the distance between himself and orange-T-shirt guy with ridiculous ease. Rob ignored the cramp in his gut and increased his speed. He arrived long moments after Farr had brought the suspect down, in time to watch the deputy cuff and search the perp. Farr glanced at Rob over his shoulder. “Guess it’s not a slow week anymore.”

“Yeah.” Chagrin heated Rob’s body.

With a broad grin, Farr hauled orange-T-shirt to his feet. “Wait and see… Never a dull moment around this place once it’s hopping.”

“Yeah.” Rob fell into step beside him as Farr nudged the suspect toward the road. “The other guy get away?”

“What? No way.” Farr chuckled. “I always get my man. Calvert’s putting him in the car.”

Wait just a damn minute…that meant…

Rob narrowed his eyes. “You mean you ran the other guy down and—”

“Yep. Calvert met me halfway into the woods, and I decided to see if you needed a hand with this one. Was pretty sure Chris and Hound had the driver handled.”

The guy wasn’t even winded. Rob pressed a hand over his midsection, concentrating on not throwing up. Daily miles on the treadmill, weights four to five times a week, and he’d barely made the chase.

Well, hell.

They slogged out of the woods and up the ditch bank. Chris was loading up the dog; Calvert held open the back door of his unit and slammed it once Farr searched Mr. Orange T-shirt and put him inside. The investigator slapped the deputy’s shoulder. “What did we tell you about showing up the new hires on the first day?”

Farr shrugged and brushed sweat from his forehead. “What do you want me to say? I’m sorry I caught the guy?”

Chris grinned. “Don’t let it get to you. It’s a freakin’ rite of passage around here. There’s not a guy on the department Troy Lee hasn’t outrun.”

“Or a patrol car he hasn’t damaged,” Calvert deadpanned. “Or outright destroyed.”

“Funny.” Farr gave him the finger.

Another engine purred to a stop behind them. His chagrin somewhat allayed by the easy camaraderie, Rob glanced back at the blue-and-silver Georgia State Patrol unit. When the badge number on the tag registered, his gut knotted. Rage burned his chest, sizzled up the back of his neck.

Jake swung out of the car, eyes shielded by dark sunglasses. The fury flooded in on Rob; he slammed the gates shut best he could. Images beat in his brain—Jake’s arm about Amy’s waist, one hand buried in her dark hair. Amy, pushing him away. The muted light glinting off her rings. Their lips almost meshing.

He heaved in a breath and held it, lungs burning.

Shoes crunching on loose gravel, Jake approached them. “Heard y’all on the radio. Thought you might need some help.”

The camaraderie vanished, a distinct chill taking its place. Farr tilted his head back. “Nope. Got it totally under control, Stringham.”

“Let’s finish the search and get these guys to lockup.” Calvert turned his back, clearly dismissing Jake.

“Hey, Rob.” Jake didn’t bother to lower his voice. “We got to talk, man. Soon.”

Rob kept walking toward Farr’s unit. “There’s nothing to say.”

“You know I can give her what she needs.” Jake shouted the words behind him. “What she wants.”

Rob stopped short. His pulse thudded hard at his temple. The skin at his shoulders and neck burned, and tension flashed into anger. Damn, it actually felt good to simply feel something again. He spun on one heel to advance on his former buddy.

He made himself stay a couple of yards away and sucked in a deep breath to quell the aggression pounding in him. “What did you say?”

Jake didn’t give way, but lifted his chin in challenge. His gaze flicked toward Farr, approaching them now, and back to Rob’s. “And we both know you can’t.”

“You son of a bitch.” The harsh growl hurt his throat. Heat flared along his cheekbones, and he struggled to check the urge to beat the other man bloody. His job, the honor code his dad had drummed into him… The bastard he’d called his friend wasn’t worth losing either of those.

“You should let her go, let her be with a real man—”

“Stringham, shut the fuck up and get back in your car.” Muted hostility vibrated in Farr’s voice. At Rob’s side, Farr rested both hands on his gun belt and scowled.

To their rear, gravel crunched under Calvert’s and Chris’s duty shoes. Great. Half the damn department had an invitation to watch this shit play out.

“Stop.” Farr gritted the command near his ear, and Rob realized he’d been flexing his hands into fists. He ceased the movement and blew out a long breath. Jake took a stride forward, and Rob tensed.

Chris stepped between them, holding Jake off from advancing with a raised hand.

“What in holy hell?” Disdain colored Calvert’s voice.

“You know I’m right, Rob!” Jake muttered the taunt, pointing over Chris’s shoulder. Sweat glimmered on his brow, and he scrubbed his wrist across his mouth.

Rob curled his fingers into fists again.

“Get in your car.” Calvert jabbed a finger toward Jake’s unit. He escorted Jake to the car, their voices pitched low, only the buzz of their words reaching Rob’s ears.

Rob struggled to breathe, fury still firing through him. He closed his eyes.
Fuck
. He had to get it together.

“Bennett.” Calvert’s cold, calm voice brought him out of the trance. Rob opened his eyes to find the investigator regarding him with an inscrutable expression. Calvert pointed at his unmarked car. “Let’s you and me go have a little talk.”

Oh, heck yeah, this was a great way to start his first day on the job.

Chapter Two

“Have a seat.” Calvert closed the office door behind them, and the muted noise from dispatch and the squad room died away. Rob sat, back ramrod straight, in one of the chairs angled in front of the desk. Calvert crossed to sit at his desk. “You want to tell me what happened out there?”

Rob shrugged. The words locked up in his throat.

Calvert’s brows winged upward. “You got nothing to say?”

Silence descended. The clock ticked. Rob stared at his knuckles, lifted his gaze to the photos gracing the corner of Calvert’s desk. Wedding shot, another one with his wife and son, a third of his little boy in an orange life vest, Lake Blackshear sparkling behind him.

No way this guy would ever understand how having everything fall out from under y
ou made you want to take that first swing, and a second, and a third… Even if he hadn’t taken a swing at Jake, his desire to do so had been obvious. Damn it, he didn’t need to look unstable.

“You’ve got to give me something here.” Calvert lifted his fingers, a come-on-man gesture. “I appreciate your not beating the shit out of Stringham under provocation, but I need some reassurance that I’m doing the right thing if I put you back in that car with Troy Lee. Give me a reason not to tell you to the hit the road.”

Hell
. His marriage and his career in one twenty-four-hour period. He rested his head in his hands, dug his fingers into his skull.

“Bennett, come on. Talk to me. I might get it.” When Rob lifted his head, Calvert watched him with a rueful grin. “Hell, I physically attacked the local head of the GBI a few years back.”

“Botine?”

“Yeah.” Calvert rubbed at his jaw.

“Why?”

“It’s complicated, but made perfect sense at the time. Now, what has you wound so tight?”

Rob fingered the nick on his wedding ring. “He’s…he was one of my oldest friends.”

“Was?”

“I caught him making a pass at my wife last night.” Rob rolled his shoulders, trying to relieve the tension there. “I guess he wasn’t the buddy I thought he was.”

“That…explains a lot.” Calvert leaned back in his chair. “So what about the next time Stringham pushes your buttons?”

“The same as today. He can push all he wants, but I’m not breaking. He’s not worth it.” He couldn’t lose this job, couldn’t lose everything at this point. Rob leaned forward, attention locked on Calvert’s unreadable expression. “I’m not the kind of agent, the kind of
cop
, that loses control. I have never lost it, with a suspect or in any situation, and I didn’t lose it today. It’s not the kind of cop I am.”

He glanced away, his gaze lingering on Calvert’s FBI award hanging on the wall, and blew out a disgusted breath. “It’s not the kind of man I am, either.”

“Well.” Calvert’s quiet voice held a hint of satisfaction. “Now that’s what I needed to hear.”

“So I’m not fired?”

“No, you’re not fired.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“You are getting some extended time riding with Troy Lee before we turn you loose.” Calvert rested his elbow on the chair arm, a finger at his temple. “Having some backup might be a good idea for a while.”

“Yes, sir.”

Calvert cleared his throat. “It’s important that you have an outlet, Bennett. Someone to talk to, a way to let the anger and frustration out.”

He swallowed. “I’ll talk to someone.”

Hell if he knew who, though. He had a few college buddies left, but in the past few months, they’d all drifted away. Honestly, Jake had been the last one. His dad was gone, and if he were here, he wouldn’t get it, any of it, his failures as a husband and a cop. And not like he could turn to either Amy or Jake any longer.

“Even as much as he talks, I understand Troy Lee can be a good listener. He’s smart too.” Calvert rubbed a hand over his jaw once again. “Considering you two will spend a lot of time in that car together… All I’m saying is talking to him might be a place to start, if there’s no one else.”

Rob nodded. He waited for Calvert to tell him he was done for the day, to go home and try again tomorrow.

The older man leaned back in his chair. “You think you can compartmentalize this enough to do the rest of the day?”

What the hell? He was getting another chance? A smile, the first real one of the day, pulled at his mouth. “Yes, sir.”

“All right.” Calvert pushed up from the desk and crossed to open the door. “Get back to work.”

When Rob emerged into the hall, he found Troy Lee and Chris waiting, lounging against the wall with assumed nonchalance. Troy Lee straightened immediately, hands spread in inquiry. “Well?”

Rob glanced back at the door that had shut softly behind him. “He told me to get back to work.”

Troy Lee’s mouth dropped and he closed it with a snap. “You’re kidding.”

“No.” Rob shrugged. He still couldn’t fathom it. Shoot, if he’d seen himself as wound up as he’d been earlier, he’d have sent himself home.

Chris whistled, long and low. He and Troy Lee exchanged a look, and Troy Lee chuckled. “Son of a bitch, he’s mellowed. Well, hell, let’s get back to work then.”

As they moved down the hall toward the side exit, Troy Lee clapped Rob’s shoulder. “Dude, I’m buying you a beer tonight.”

Rob frowned. “Why?”

Chris laughed and pushed the door open. “Because if anyone deserved an ass-beating, it’s Stringham. Don’t know many guys who wouldn’t have obliged him.”

Troy Lee settled his campaign hat on his head. “What was that about anyway?”

“It’s a long story.”

“Great. We have four more hours on shift. You can tell me all about it.”

* * * * *

She did not need this kind of day. Amy shifted on the bench outside the grand-jury room. What she needed was a busy day, full of witness interviews and crime-scene-evidence reports. What she had was a terminally slow day, sitting and waiting to see if the grand jury would want to hear from her on two cases. What she had was too much time to think and worry and obsess.

She cast another surreptitious glance at her silenced cell. Nothing. Not an email, not a call, not a text. It made her crazy. She missed the old days, when he’d been eager to talk to her, when they’d checked in all day long.

They needed to talk. They needed to fix this.

Amy crossed her arms over her chest. If she hadn’t heard from him by the end of the day, she would go look for him. Maybe she’d able to pull him back to her, get him to listen, get him to talk. Surely his silence didn’t indicate that he thought she’d wanted Jake’s attention.

Surely he’d realize she could never want anyone but him.

“I wasn’t crazy about the ending.” The conversation between Amy’s partner Madeline and a Chandler County sheriff’s investigator infiltrated Amy’s consciousness. The two seemed to be relatively friendly acquaintances and had spent the morning chatting about books and films. Amy had listened at times, in spits and spurts, hoping to be distracted from obsessing about whether or not her marriage was over.

It hadn’t worked.

“I think it’s like
The Sixth Sense
ending. Enough clues that I should have figured it out before the climax.” The investigator tucked a piece of gum in his mouth.

Madeline caught Amy’s gaze. “Did you see it, Bennett?”

Amy blinked. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t paying attention. What movie?”

The door to the grand-jury room swung open before Madeline could reply. The bailiff nodded at the small group of potential witnesses. “Ladies and gentlemen, we’re going to break for lunch. Please be back by one fifteen.”

“Great. I’m starved.” Madeline stood and brushed dust from her slacks. “Bennett, the Bistro or the diner across the street?”

“I don’t care.” Like she’d be able to eat anyway. Amy had tried to choke down a bagel that morning, but her throat had been too tight with fear, too scratchy from last night’s tears. After he’d admitted their marriage really might be in trouble, they’d driven home in silence. Nothing had been said once they’d arrived home, either. Just like a hundred other nights, Rob had retreated to the couch in the living room while she went to bed alone. He’d been gone by the time she’d awakened.

The investigator tapped out a text and glanced up from his phone. “I’m meeting Tick at the diner. You’re welcome to join us.”

“Hey, yeah, Bennett.” Madeline nudged Amy’s shoulder as they started down the stairs. “He’s the lead investigator for Chandler County, and it’s your husband’s first day, right? Maybe you’ll catch the scuttle on how it’s going.”

“That would be great.” Amy tried to smile, knowing the feeble attempt probably looked more like a pained grimace. She shouldn’t have to rely on office scuttle to inform her of Rob’s day. A hint of pique twisted through her. Why couldn’t he talk this out with her?

“Have I introduced you two?” Madeline gestured between Amy and the investigator as they reached the ground floor. “Bennett, Mark Cook. Cookie, Agent Amy Bennett. We’ve been partnered, what? A month now.”

“Something like that.”

“Y’all just hired her husband on.”

Cook fixed Madeline with an ironic look. “No, I never realized that.”

Madeline laughed. “Kiss my ass, Cook.”

Amy followed the other two into the bright sunlight outside. Oppressive heat instantly wrapped her in a wet, woolen blanket. Sucking in as deep a breath as the humidity would allow, Amy swiped a finger across her phone screen and brought up an empty text message. With one hand, she typed out a quick message to Rob, asking about his lunch plans, telling him where she was. She hesitated, then typed before she could change her mind.

I’d like to see you. I love you.

She sent the message and hurried to catch up to the others. Near the diner’s doorway, Madeline and Cook chatted with a dark-haired plainclothes cop.

“…telling you, I wouldn’t have blamed the guy for beating the living shit out of him.” The tall cop tugged a hand through his hair. “I’m still not sure I did the right thing sending him back out on the road, but when he told me why, I kind of got it. I’d have been pissed as hell too, and the kid held it together. I’ve got a call in to the GSP Post commander.”

Amy tapped Madeline’s shoulder. “I’m going to wash up.”

Inside, the diner was blessedly cool but noisy with chatter and heavy with the aroma of hot grease. Amy ducked down the short hallway to the ladies’ room. She passed a hand over her phone, which lay silent and still in her pocket. Maybe he was busy.

Her eyes burned, and she met her shiny gaze in the mirror. Red tear blotches bloomed on her nose and cheeks.

“Who are you kidding?” she whispered. “He’s not going to answer you.”

She turned on the water and splashed her wrists, cheeks and eyes. She needed a plan. Find him after work, take him somewhere for dinner that offered a modicum of privacy yet ensured he’d have to tune in to them. That could work, except every time she tried to get him out of the house lately, he cried off, claiming fatigue. Getting him to go to dinner the night before had taken everything but an Act of Congress.

And look how well that had turned out.

After drying her hands and face with a rough paper towel, she stepped out.

“Amy.” Jake pushed away from the wall where he’d been leaning and touched her arm. “We need to talk.”

Was he
serious
? Amy shook off his gentle hand. “We don’t have anything to talk about.”

“I tried to talk to Rob earlier.”

“What?” The remnants of that overheard conversation between the two cops outside rose in her mind, and she groaned. They’d been talking about Jake and Rob.
Oh, Lord help us, not on his first day
.

“All I did was show up as backup on a traffic stop.” Jake rested his hands at his hips. “Tried to talk to him, and he went ballistic.”

“Rob went ballistic. Right.” Cool, calm, always collected Rob. He’d even been that cool last night.

“It doesn’t matter anyway.” Urgency colored Jake’s tone. He curved his hands around her shoulders. “Listen, Amy, we have to talk about us—”

“There is no us.” She shrugged him off, looking beyond his shoulder at the diner, crowded with lunchtime patrons, including her partner and two of Rob’s new coworkers. She could take him if she had to, and she wasn’t above yelling for help. One thing was for damn sure—she wouldn’t give him another opportunity to get close enough to touch. “I can’t believe you. You’re supposed to be our friend. You were one of Rob’s groomsmen at our wedding—”

“I don’t want to be your friend.” Jake’s mouth twisted. “I want to be more. I can be what you want, give you what you want. Rob can’t do that.”

She wasn’t going to dignify that with a reply, and she wasn’t going to stand there and listen to him any longer. The black dots of fury danced before her eyes, and she shouldered past him. She swung the diner door open harder than necessary, the summer heat outside no match for the fiery anger swirling through her.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket, and she snatched it free. Rob’s photo and number glowed on the screen, and she swiped to answer, her hands shaky. “Hello?”

“Hey. Got your text.” Rob’s voice was terse. A radio squawked in the background.

“I really need to see you.” Tears trembled on her lashes, and her heart thudded a wild rhythm, a combination of that crazy confrontation with Jake and finally, finally hearing Rob’s voice. “We need to talk about this.”

“Yeah.” Could one syllable be any shorter? He cleared his throat. “Later. I’ll be home tonight.”

* * * * *

The way she looked at him made him itch. Blake ignored the trickle of sweat along his spine and the sun beating against his bare back. Too bad ignoring Montgomery Farr’s cool perusal wasn’t so easy. He was in and out of her house constantly because of his friendship with her younger sister, and after more than three years of hanging out with Ellis, Montgomery shouldn’t make him nervous and shivery and tongue-tied.

Darn if she didn’t, though.

He drove the last nail home with two hard whacks and rocked back on his heels. Grimacing, he scrubbed his wrist across his sweaty brow, shoving his bangs away from his eyes as he did so. Should have brought a cap today. Pushing to his feet, he dropped his hammer in its spot on his worn tool belt, the one that had belonged to the grandfather he never knew. Carefully, he picked his way across the roof’s steep incline to where the ladder waited. Again, intense awareness that Montgomery rested against the sawhorses, watching him, prickled over him.